World Breaks Boy
by Gandalf3213
Summary: Something's wrong with Shawn, and he's not telling. It'll take a best friend, a knowing principal, and a worried teacher to get him to spill his darkest secret.
1. Hurting

**I don't own Boy Meets World. I wish I did.**

Shawn Hunter winced as he swung his backpack up. Not only was his stomach dying from lack of food, but his hand felt like it wanted to fall off. After school, he'd drop by Cory's and see if he had anything to wrap around it. Maybe.

Shawn went out the window, which, other then being infinitely better then the door, was a sure way to make sure he didn't wake up his dad. Then he started walking.

In his opinion, the best part of the day was the walk from his house to Cory's, where he'd get on the bus. The walk meant he was going back to school, yes. But it also meant he was getting away from home.

Between school and home, he'd pick school any day.

Shawn smiled at Cory, sticking his hurt hand into a pocket. He tried not to wince at the pain that got sent up his arm. From the passing look of worry on Cory's face, he could tell he didn't do a good job.

Shawn also saw a paper bag in Cory's hands.

The bag probably contained food.

It took all of Shawn's self-discipline not to rip the bag out of Cory's hands.

Shawn and Cory clamored onto the bus, taking their usual seats towards the back. Shawn tried to act normal and talk and laugh. But his throbbing hand impeded him progress.

He didn't even want to think about school. It was his right hand that was hurt. He was right handed. Even though he avoided writing like the plague, he'd have to do it sometime.

Shawn winced every time his hand hit something. He could barely even remember hurting it. All that he remembered was that his father had come home drunk. Again.

There was also some yelling, and a couple punches thrown. Luckily, Chet Hunter had bad aim. But there was also a push, onto the floor.

He had stopped it with his hand.

The bus stopped in front of the middle school, screeching to a stop and jarring Shawn's hand once again. He groaned.

It was going to be a long day.

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Really, really short. The other chapters will be longer!

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	2. Wondering

**I own nothing**

Cory looked at Shawn carefully as they got off the bus. "Hey, you all right?" he asked his friend. He had seen a flicker of pain dart across his friend's face. Shawn laughed, "Sure, Cor, why wouldn't I be?"

Cory shrugged and looked at Shawn closer. He noticed that one of his hands was stuck into his pocket, and that the part of wrist that showed out of it was black and blue. "Shawn, what's wrong with your hand?" the words were barely out of his mouth before the bell rang for first period.

"Not now, Cory." Shawn muttered, walking into Jonathan Turner's English Lit. class and taking his usual seat towards the back of the room. Cory sat down in front of him.

Turner pulled a book out of his pocket and held it up, though Cory couldn't see the title. "Who knows what the Cold War was about?" he asked, looking around.

"What it's always about. Land, Girls, Money, and girls!" Shawn called out with his usual tact, getting a ripple of laughter to go around the room and making Cory feel marginally more cheerful; if Shawn could still, joke, maybe he wasn't hurt that bad. Maybe he wasn't hurt at all.

But for the entire rest of the lesson, Shawn was unnaturally quiet. And Cory didn't hear any tell-tale snores that meant that he was asleep. So he was back to being worried.

"Don't you just hate Mondays?" Cory asked, setting his tray down next to Shawn in the cafeteria. Shawn nodded; his mouth already full. He was already wolfing down his food. Cory rolled his eyes. "Geeze, Shawn, it's like you haven't eaten in a week!"

Shawn was tempted to say, "More like a weekend," but held it back. Usually, he hung out at Cory's most of the weekend, but Cory had been out of town. And Shawn's refrigerator was empty save for a couple of beers, and he wasn't about to touch those. He'd seen what it did to people. Plus, he had no pocket money.

Which basically added up to one food-free weekend. Which also meant that Shawn took forty seconds flat eating his school-supplied lunch.

Cory noticed that Shawn didn't take his right hand out of his pocket, making his eating sloppier then usual. "Shawn, what's up with your hand?" Cory yanked the hand out of the pocket, holding it up to the light.

The entire wrist was black and blue, with a couple of scraps and cuts to boot. It made Cory hurt just to look at it. But before he could say anything Shawn yanked his fist away and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"It's nothing. Just a bruise, that's all." Shawn kept his voice low, not wanting to be overheard. What he didn't know was that in the back of the cafeteria, a certain English teacher was looking at his wrist, and knew that it wasn't a bruise at all.

And was wondering how he'd gotten his wrist broken. And why he wouldn't tell anyone.

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	3. Finding

**I own Boy Meets World. Not.**

"I'm telling you, Feeny, Hunter's getting really hurt. Either he's been in fights or…I don't know what. But this is the fourth time in a month I've seen him hurt in some way." Jonathan Turner was trying not to yell. He wanted his point made.

Mr. Feeny sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking intently at Mr. Turner. "This is not the first time you've come here with worries about Mr. Hunter." He said calmly.

Turner could have hit him. "You and I both know that that kid's family is not the most stable-" he was cut off by the principal.

"Are you suggesting abuse, Mr. Turner?" he asked, his voice low and still calm.

Turner considered this for a moment, then said. "Yeah. I am."

This provoked a long, sad sigh from Feeny. "Then I'll clue you in on a secret. I have also seen such signs on Shawn Hunter, but have never been able to prove it. From the time he was a little boy he's been coming into school with injuries from "accidents." I could never prove that it was Chet Hunter. Even though in my heart, I knew that it was."

Turner was stunned by this bit of news. "And why can't you get the guy?"

"Because, Mr. Turner, Shawn obviously adores his father. Whenever I see them in public, the boy is hanging on his every word. It could be an act, of course…"

"Of course it's an act. Have you ever talked to Hunter about this?" Turner asked.

Mr. Feeny stood up. "yes, but he denies everything. I am convinced that he is hiding something. His answers are too quick for my liking. Maybe you can get an answer out of him." Turner was being dismissed. He turned to go, thinking of the black-and-blue wrist he had seen, and wondering how he'd confront Shawn.

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When Mr. Mathews answered the door, he was surprised to see Jonathan Turner standing there. Taking a wild stab he said, "looking for Shawn?" after he saw the man nod, he said. "Upstairs. See if you can get him to let someone look at his arm."

He watched as the teacher almost ran up the stairs, shaking his head. he really hoped Chet Hunter hadn't started drinking again. If he had, it would only mean more visits from teachers, Feeny included. Not that he didn't care about Shawn, but it had happened one too many times.

Actually, seven too many times.

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	4. Helping

**I own nothing**

Shawn Hunter sat on Cory's bed, looking down at the blue and red bedspread. Refusing to look at either Cory or Mr. Turner. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand.

"He's doing it again, isn't he?" Cory's soft voice broke through the silence like a bullet. Shawn nodded slowly, causing Cory to swear under his breath. "For how long?"

Shawn shrugged his shoulders. "A month? Maybe six weeks?"

Cory's mouth hung open. "Why didn't you tell me? Or Feeny? Or anybody?" Shawn shrugged. "Geeze Shawn, use your head!"

Shawn shuddered and cowered, making Cory stop short on his rant. He moved over next to Shawn, putting his arm around him. He was alarmed to find Shawn's shoulders tense under the pressure. "I'm sorry, Shawn." He said quietly.

Shawn's voice was loud and angry when he spoke. "He promised!" Just those two words. The words echoed around the room, lingering in the air.

Mr. Turner got up. He understood none of the conversation. He didn't like things he didn't understand. "Okay, I want the whole story, from the beginning."

Cory and Shawn looked at each other. Both knew _exactly_ where the beginning was. Both had been there. They were amazed that Turner didn't know, or at least guess.

"It was kindergarten, right?" Cory said slowly, not taking his eyes off Shawn. Shawn shook his head. "Preschool?" Shawn nodded.

Cory looked at Mr. Turner. "In preschool, we went on this trip. And, well, a lot of things happened. But that was the day Mr. Feeny figured out that Shawn's father was hurting him." An intake of breath from Mr. Turner made Cory stop.

"You were, what? Five?" Shawn nodded, and it was Turner's turn to swear.

Cory nodded sagely, "Yeah. Well, I had known for a couple months, but who really listens to a five-year-old? So stayed with us and Mr. Feeny for a few months, because there wasn't enough to convict his father, event though everyone knew it was him. And then his father came to get him, swore that he was clean."

"But he wasn't?" Turner guessed.

Cory shook his head. "No, he was. But he started drinking again, only this time nobody caught it until Shawn came to school with two black eyes. That was first grade. Nobody could prove that it was his dad that was doing it. And Shawn-" he punched his friend lightly on the uninjured arm, "wouldn't say anything."

Mr. Turner was stunned. He had never known-could never imagine-that Shawn had been hurt like that. He seemed, except for a few peculiarities, like a normal kid.

Jonathan Turner got up, took one last look at the boys sitting on the bed, and went out of the room. After a few quick words with Mr. Matthews, it was decided that Shawn would sleep there for the night. He went back to his apartment, wondering how anybody could hurt a thirteen-year-old kid.

At the Matthews', Shawn was pretty good. He talked with everybody and ate more then a couple helpings of supper. But he still wouldn't let anyone look at his arm.

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	5. Believing?

**I own nothing**

Shawn boarded the bus with Cory the next morning, his hand stuffed once again inside his jeans pocket. He and Cory were in deep debate over who was better-the Yankees or the Mets. Even the throbbing hand in his pocket didn't stop Shawn from making his point.

By the time they got inside the school building, Shawn was smiling and laughing at something Cory had said. By the time they got to their lockers, though, Shawn was no longer smiling.

Mr. Feeny was waiting for them. Next to him was Topanga (Cory automatically kissed his girlfriend.) Mr. Feeny beckoned to Shawn, and the boy followed him resolutely to the principal's office.

"Shawn," Mr. Feeny sat down across from Shawn, his face completely blank. "I think you should show me your arm." Shawn stuck out the arm that wasn't in his pocket. Mr. Feeny tutted, "The other arm, Shawn."

The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about them. "I fell and I stuck out my hand and I think I hurt it somehow."

Mr. Feeny held Shawn's hand gently between his own, gazing at it intently. He pressed his thumb against different parts of it until Shawn couldn't help himself. "Ouch!" the boy pulled his hand away, cradling it in his other arm.

Mr. Feeny frowned, watching as unbidden tears of pain came to Shawn's eyes. "Did you really fall, Shawn?"

Shawn nodded. He had-fallen, that is. Granted, his dad had pushed him, but…

If anybody had had as much time away from their family as he had, they would understand why he just wanted to stay with them, even if it did mean a few pushes here and there. Usually, his dad was a great guy, really.

The teacher was tired of playing games. "Shawn, I've watched you ever since you were five. I saw what happened when your father got…out of hand. Are you telling me that didn't happen this time?"

Shawn looked at the old man. He couldn't lie to him. Granted, he could lie like a rug any time he wanted, but Mr. Feeny was different. Instead, he evaded the question. "My dad promised never to drink again." He said, his voice soft but confident.

Mr. Feeny stood up. "Your wrist is broken, Mr. Hunter, and it has been for quite some time. Four days, I wager?" Shawn said nothing, he looked the other way.

"You'll have to go to the hospital, and then I suggest you spend the night at the Matthews." Shawn didn't say anything. He got out of the chair, still cradling one hand in the other, and left the room.

Mr. Feeny watched as Shawn Hunter walked down the hallway and back out of the school where Turner was going to take him to the hospital. Feeny sighed; he had watched Hunter go through many difficult times, not the least of which was scrounging through the dumpsters looking for _something _to eat. This wasn't the end.

**Actually, it is. But there might be another story if you review.**


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